“Never a dye has touched it,” protested David. “It’s as natural as the sunshine—and as radiant.”
“Then you’re a ruined man, Davie,” the Earl gravely declared, between puffs at his pipe. “There may be some saving quality in a woman who merely dyes her hair. An honest nature may persist beneath the painted wig, in spite of her endeavours. But if she’s a tortoise-shell tabby born, then you might better be dead than sitting there mooning about her. I give you up as a lost creature!”
“Then all the more reason you should help me to cook a fine breakfast, to confront my doom upon,” replied Mosscrop, lightly. “I didn’t quite promise that I’d call her in time to assist. It will be more of a surprise to have it all ready, spread in her honour, when she comes in. What do you think of soft roes grilled on toast, eh? You can get them in tins. And some little lamb cutlets—or perhaps venison—and then some eggs Bercy—you do those fit for a queen, and we might have——”
“The truth is,” put in the other, reflectively, “that black is the only wholly satisfying hair for a woman. The intervening compromises—all the browns and chestnuts and reds and auburns—are a delusion. I see that very clearly now. Give me the hair that throws a purplish shadow, glossy and thick and growing well down upon the forehead, and then a straight-nosed face, wide between the eyes and rounded under the chin, and a complexion of a soft, pale olive. There’s nothing else worth talking about.”
“I had thought of those small Italian sausages, but I don’t know that in hot weather they——”
“Oh rot!” said the nobleman. “Who wants to talk about muffins and ham fat at this time of night? Have you no poetry in you, man? There was a divine creature on the steamer coming over—great eyes like a sloe, and the face of a Circassian princess, calm, regal, languid, yet with depths of passion underneath that seemed to call out to you to risk your immortal soul for the sake of drowning in them——”
“My word, here is cheek, if you like!” burst in Mosscrop, stormily. “You won’t let me talk about my girl at all; you sneer and gibe and croak evil suspicions, and make a general nuisance of yourself at the least mention of her—and then you suppose I’m going to sit patiently and listen to such blithering twaddle as this. Damn it all, a man’s got some rights in his own room!”
“I’m told not,” commented the Earl, grimly.
“Now, why hark back to that?” demanded David, with a show of petulance. “It’s all settled and done with, hours ago. But what I was saying was, it isn’t the decent thing for you to—to obtrude talk of that sort just to throw ridicule on a subject that I feel very keen about.”
Drumpipes yawned frankly. “It’s time you turned in, Davie,” he remarked. “The lack of sleep aye makes you silly. I’ve no wish to ridicule your subject, as you call her. It’s not at all necessary. You’ll see for yourself how ridiculous it is in the morning. It merely occurred to me that if we must talk of women, I’d something in my mind worth the while—no strolling yellow-headed vagrant picked up at random on a bridge, but a gentlewoman in education and means and manners. Man, you should see her teeth when she smiles!”